


'Tis Pumpkin Season, Ichabod Crane

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Beverages, Festivals, First Date-esque, Flowers, Games, Gen, Gen or Pre-Het, Humour and Seriousness, Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie tries to explain pumpkins, trick or treating, balloon pop, and why she hasn't been to the Sleepy Hollow community get-together in years.</p><p>Ichabod ponders a flower, pumpkin pie lattés, photo shoots, and giving Miss Mills the colonial experience and a reason to come back to the Sleepy Hollow community get-together.</p><p>All in all? It's a cultural experience.</p><p>[Autumn fic.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Tis Pumpkin Season, Ichabod Crane

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write an All Hallow's Eve story, but, like the promos say, every day is Halloween in Sleepy Hollow. So, I decided to write about fall, inspired off of my own town's fall celebration type thing. Went a little more interesting for story purposes, though. :p
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thanks for reading!

"Of all the many things that have changed throughout the centuries, the foliage has not," Crane said absently, his head directed towards one of the many trees lining the street. "Autumn was always my favourite season of the four."

Abbie shoved her hands in her pockets, following his gaze. "Yeah. It's mine, too. Which makes this time of year more or less perfect, minus the looming threat of the apocalypse."

She nudged him, playfully, Ichabod had come to realize, although he had yet to figure the humour in making light of possibly the most catastrophic event bound to happen to humanity since Noah and the flood. He had a faint idea, however, that it must have been a human coping mechanism, and he was content to take her playful jabs while they had a moment of light in their strangely dim world.

"So, what is this joyous event of gatherings?" Crane asked, tilting his head slightly back towards the hoi-palloi down the closed-off street. "There has been a certain commotion all week, if I recall correctly."

"It's a town get-together sort of thing. Every year, right about October 20th, Sleepy Hollow has a fall fling. You just missed it last year."

Crane raised his eyebrows. "A fall fling."

"Festival? Gathering. Whatever you want to call it. All the shops set up outdoor displays with special deals or special items. There's games for the kids and food and drinks, raffles, that sort of thing."

"And are we partaking in this ‘fall fling’, Lieutenant?"

"I thought we might. We have a day off. D'you wanna?" Abbie glanced up at him.

Ichabod smiled winningly. "It would be my pleasure to accompany you, Miss Mills."

"Awesome. Come on, Crane. Let's introduce you to Fall '14."

"Yes. Let's."

He wasn't quite sure of what the differences were going to be between his memories of autumn and what the 21st century's butchering of it would be, but it couldn't be too bad. Autumn was, after all, a season. Mankind couldn't alter a season much by performing trivial actions such as closing down the main street and setting up stalls for goods. The leaves fluttering down around them proved such a point.

Nonetheless, he would call it a cultural experience. He was, if nothing else, eager to learn about the wonders that had occurred in this decade, even if he thought little about shirts that showed a lady's midriff or jeans meant to be so skinny that they were impossible to fit into. Navel piercings and the devil's trousers aside, something like autumn was different. The entire season was rich with life, and he was not one to turn away from a new experience.

"So, a Sleepy Hollow rite of passage," he said conversationally, falling into step next to the Lieutenant.

"Pretty much. Because all we have is a day to commemorate fall, fifty days or so after it's begun."

"I think it's a lovely tribute, although I don't see the necessity in having so many pumpkins."

"That's fall, Crane. Pumpkins, witches, ghosts. A lot of the unseen world that we see on every case?" Abbie ventured, smiling wryly up at him.

"I understand the significance of having carved pumpkins. Carved pumpkins were the traditional way of paying tribute to Samhain, were they not?"

"And how should I know that?" Abbie looked genuinely amused, glancing between him and the road in front of her as she walked.

Ichabod suspected that she liked being able to have the upper hand with him. It just persuaded him to learn all the more. "You celebrate All Hallow's Eve, do you not?"

Abbie nodded. "Yeah, but _Halloween_ is a lot different than it used to be. Kids dress up, go around asking for candy."

"Trick or treating," Ichabod interrupted. "I've heard of this. What trick is to be performed if the children do not receive their intended sweets?"

"Doesn't really work that way, Crane."

"Then, there are no tricks?" Ichabod tilted his head slightly. Centuries of practice and he still couldn't recognize truth from fiction given some circumstances.

"Well," Abbie said absently, "maybe. Illegally. But it's not something that happens just because it's in the name. A lot of people don't even hand out candy."

"So, neither tricking nor treating are obligatory. Lovely."

Abbie shoved his arm. "I don't think you'll have any trick or treaters out at the cabin, anyway. You don't have to worry about if you'll get egged or TP'ed."

Ichabod blinked. "Egged and TP'ed? What exactly does that mean?"

"You'll find out one day," Abbie teased. "Come on, let's get something to drink." She gripped his sleeve loosely, directing him towards the stand that one of the small hometown coffee shops had set up. "Pumpkin pie latté?"

"How can they combine a traditional dessert with a modern beverage?" Ichabod inquired, folding his hands behind his back as he leaned forward to check the offered beverages. "Does it _taste_ like a liquified pumpkin pie?"

"Uh, no. I hope not. I haven't tried it from here."

Ichabod hummed. "This appears to say ‘spiced apple cider’. Am I reading it correctly?"

"You sure are, honey," chirped the attendant. "Best apple cider around town!"

Abbie laughed quietly. Ichabod was sure he was the only one who heard it.

He sniffed and straightened up, smiling professionally at the attendant. "I will take the cider, then, if you please."

"Sure thing! And for you, Miss Mills?"

"Oh, let's try the pumpkin pie latté, then," Abbie said.

"It's delicious."

"Well, I'm adventurous," Abbie replied cheerfully. She turned away, crouching down next to a container of brightly coloured flowers. Ichabod believed they were mums.

He was suddenly struck with an idea, then, and smiled secretly to himself as he turned away. He stooped down next to another bouquet of flowers, several of which he didn't know the classifications of, and gently edged one of the pink carnations from the rest. He held it behind his back and stood up, turning around just as the Lieutenant did.

Abbie raised her eyebrows. "What are you up to?"

Ichabod fought the smile that threatened his lips. "Nothing."

"Crane, you've got that cat that got the cream look, now tell me what you're doing." Abbie crossed her arms across her chest determinately. The fire was back in her eyes, but playful and friendly. Ichabod vowed that he never wanted to be on the non-playful and non-friendly receiving end of Miss Mill's determination.

Ichabod twisted the stem between his fingers before holding the carnation out to Abbie. "For you, Lieutenant."

Abbie's eyebrows shot up further. "Really?"

"Every woman loves flowers, I am led to believe," he said quietly. "I find that this shade is most suitable for you."

Abbie just shook her head with something that sounded like a cross between a scoff and a laugh, reaching out to take the carnation. "Thanks, Crane."

"You are most welcome, Lieutenant."

"Here are your drinks, darling," the attendant of the beverage stand said, handing over Abbie's coffee and then Ichabod's cider.

"Thank you," Ichabod said, trying to quiet down the odd tone to his voice.

Abbie nudged him as they turned away, coffee in hand. " _Honey_."

Ichabod tilted his head slightly, looking down at her. "What? I can hardly be penalized for whatever nicknames your community chooses to call me." He smiled softly, raising his drink to his lips. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted... like spiced apple cider. "Oh."

Abbie looked up at him. "What? You found something that tastes like you think it's supposed to?"

"Yes. I'm surprised," he admitted.

"Or maybe you're just getting used to this century."

Ichabod made a face. "I don't know," he said teasingly. "After the initial culture shock of my entrance into 21st century Sleepy Hollow..."

"What, the bit where you got arrested or the part where you almost got ran over by a semi?"

"I should have never told you that," Ichabod retorted absently, taking another drink of his cider. "How is your pureed pumpkin pie, _Lieutenant_?"

"Pretty good. I don't know, sometimes this stuff doesn't actually taste like what it's supposed to, but this is good. _I'm_ surprised," she said, looking back up at him with a smile.

Ichabod smiled back before letting the street vendors take his attention. There were various things for sale, ranging from clothing to household products such as dinnerware. There were flowers for sale, further consumables, and even someone offering to draw up caricatures of anyone willing to pay a small fee.

"Your gathering in the street is very quaint, Lieutenant," he said softly, forced a step closer to Abbie when a group of laughing children ran past them. "Everyone seems to be more jovial than I recall seeing the inhabitants of this fair town."

"It's our little home town appreciation thing." Abbie shrugged. "People get together. It's nice."

"Indeed," Ichabod agreed.

He was more than fascinated to stop and look through the knick-knacks that they happened upon. More than once, he got the feeling that his partner was simply humoring him, but he didn't mind. From the smile that appeared on Abbie's lips and stayed there determinedly, he didn't think that the Lieutenant minded much at all, either.

"Hang on, Crane," Abbie said absently, drawn out to one of her acquaintances that she had spotted in the throng.

Ichabod was content to wait, letting his mind be take to other things, like the impending chill of winter and the fact that someone had set up what appeared to be documented as a _balloon pop_.

"Miss Mills?" he ventured when she had joined his side again. "What exactly is the purpose of a ‘balloon pop’? I thought the purpose of such objects were to bring joy and amusement while they were inflated, not in popping them."

"D'you even know what a balloon _is_ , Crane?"

Ichabod sniffed. "I've seen them advertised in the party supply section at the convenience store. Also, Benjamin Franklin had a certain fascination with them, albeit those were _hot air_ balloons..."

Abbie rolled her eyes. "And there's the historical fun fact of the day. It's a game, Crane. You throw darts, try to pop the balloons, if you do, you get a prize. Some balloons have tokens in them for better stuff." She shrugged. "For the kids."

Surely the Lieutenant foresaw his next question in advance, but she did not comment.

"Can _adults_ play them as well?" Ichabod prompted.

Now Ichabod watched the recognition light up Abbie's eyes.

"Seriously?"

"It's a cultural experience," he explained. "And I wish to experience the grand feat of popping one of these balloons with a small, sharp object with feathers on the end."

"It's a dart."

"Very unlike the darts I am familiar with," Ichabod said, turning towards the game stall. "I wish to purchase a dart for a chance to pop one of these garishly coloured balloons."

" _Crane_!"

Ichabod glanced back at her; her accusory tone didn't match the laughter in her eyes. "What?" he asked innocently, and then turned back to the attendant. "Is there much strategy in this game?" The attendant put three darts in front of him. He picked one up and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand.

"None," Abbie said. Before Ichabod had realized it, the Lieutenant had leaned over, swiped one of the darts, and tossed it at the board.

"Miss Mills!" he protested, and then looked between the board and her. "You missed, and have by that design just wasted one of my precious ammunition."

"It's not war, Crane. It's balloon pop."

Ichabod splayed his fingers over the remaining dart on the tabletop. "I beg to differ, Miss Mills," he said seriously, narrowing his eyes at the balloon.

He popped both of the balloons he was aiming for, with no amount of light sarcasm from the Lieutenant. Nonetheless, he was presented with a celebratory fist-bump and a choice of prizes. He decided on a stuffed giraffe toy for no other reason than the Lieutenant saying that suited him. The array of prizes weren't meant for an adult to begin with, but Ichabod didn't mind. Abbie would probably end up taking it home at the end of the night, anyway; Ichabod's cabin was a mess currently from the books he had piled up and hadn't gotten around to reading yet, amongst other 21st century advancements that he was becoming acquainted with.

"This was quite enjoyable," he remarked later, sitting opposite Abbie as they watched the townspeople putter by. "It brings out a fine sense of community."

"Yeah... I haven't been to one of these things in years."

Ichabod turned to look at her. "Whyever not, Miss Mills? I'd say that we had a fine time, as well as accumulating a fine haul," he remarked, looking at the carnation and the stuffed giraffe sitting on the bench next to Abbie.

She shrugged. "I dunno. Before this, I never had a reason. Jenny and I weren't on speaking terms, all of my past boyfriends either worked or weren't interested."

"I see." Ichabod folded his hands on his lap, looking back at the street and the sun setting off into the distance. "Perhaps, Armageddon permitting," he added, "we should make this a yearly event, you and I, Lieutenant."

Abbie laughed quietly. "Armageddon permitting." She nodded, though. "I think that's a good idea. We need a break now and then. _But_ we still have one more thing to do here before I take you home."

Ichabod looked back at her again. "What's that?"

It was a photo shoot. There was a perfect spot in front of a line of trees, at their peak in their changing of colours, that had been accentuated with flowers, a few bales of straw, and some pumpkins.

"We don't have a picture, Crane," Abbie explained. "I can't have you sign it and say that I had the colonial experience if I don't have a picture of you to prove it," she teased.

Ichabod smiled, looked between Abbie and the camera-man. "What do we do?"

"Act natural."

Ichabod nodded slowly, then with more determination. He offered his arm to Abbie, like a gentleman should, and led her over to the photo shoot. She sat down on one of the straw bales, but before she could ask him to accompany her, he sank down on one knee and offered his hand up to her. "The colonial experience," he explained, eyes twinkling. This was his natural.

"You're making a spectacle, Crane," Abbie said, but she put her hand in his nonetheless.

"No more than anyone else, I assure you," he said, and then brushed his lips against the back of her hand. "This has been a most wonderful night, Lieutenant," he said quietly, and smiled up at her when she met his gaze.

The photograph was a nice one, Ichabod had to admit, and he propped it up on the nightstand next to his bed later that night. It was the only photo that he had in the cabin.

It was small, the photo, but Ichabod could pick out the details clearly. The dust on the ground that had blotted his knees when he stood. The laughter on Abbie's face, and the way he had looked up at her through his eyelashes. He could practically feel the autumn breeze on his skin.

It was small, but vivid, and Ichabod thought that maybe he ought to have more photographs taken of this new life because it was something that he never wanted to forget.

 


End file.
